


The Story of Anthony J Crowley acquiring a nine-year-old child

by obaewankenope (rexthranduil)



Series: Absconding with Harry verse [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Absconding with Harry verse, Archangel Crowley, Crowley as Raphael, Crowley never meant to abscond with a child. It just HAPPENED, Gen, Good guy Crowley, Petunia deserves every ounce of terror she feels, mentions of abuse, things happen to him A LOT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 18:27:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19323664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexthranduil/pseuds/obaewankenope
Summary: Anthony J Crowley accidentally acquires a nine-year-old child when he comes across the scene of a middle-aged woman smacking said nine-year-old child with a frying pan while screaming about something to do with ‘cooking the bacon properly’. Now, Crowley is, at his core, a bastard. But he’s a bastard whocares.





	The Story of Anthony J Crowley acquiring a nine-year-old child

**Author's Note:**

> Blame @wreckercryptid for this, please, please, please. They're an absolute NIGHTMARE of pain for writing and shit I s2g.

Anthony J Crowley accidentally acquires a nine-year-old child when he comes across the scene of a middle-aged woman smacking said nine-year-old child with a frying pan while screaming about something to do with ‘cooking the bacon properly’. Now, Crowley is, at his core, a bastard. But he’s a bastard who _cares._

He’s also a bastard who takes a dim view of anyone who’d hit a child with a kitchen utensil rather than themselves. Repeatedly.

So it’s really no surprise to the universe that he snaps his fingers and materialises between the screeching banshee of a woman and the huddling form of a nine-year-old child.

It’s also no surprise when the frying pan collides with his arm and bevels from the force and his general refusal to consider it anything other than a piece of pointless mortal plastic rather than made of cast iron.

He’s not in any real mood to deal with whatever the human woman is squawking but his attention is snagged when she throws herself away from him, eyes wide, mouth wider and spits out: “WIZARD!” in the loudest, most obnoxious voice Crowley’s ever had the misfortune to hear.

And he’s a _demon_.

“Right, well,” he says, tilting his head to look at the frying pan discarded on the floor—it had made a right old racket when it hit the tiles—before looking at the woman. “Not a wizard. Not that nice, I’m afraid.”

“Nice! Wizards aren’t—aren’t nice!” The woman all but wails at him and Crowley really wants to ask about her family history because there has got to be some banshee in there for that pitch. “They’re filthy _freaks!”_ Her gaze slides from Crowley to the boy behind him.  “Just like _him!”_

Now, there is something that must be understood about Crowley. He is a demon, yes, he’s already accepted that fact and readily admits it. But, he’s also really fond of kids. There’s something about kids that is pure and innocent and young and so kind and Crowley looks at children and sees what he once was and he wants to Protect It.

So hearing this woman call a nine-year-old child—who is currently cowering behind Crowley even though there is anger and trepidation in those very vivid green eyes—makes Crowley’s past rise and causes him to unleash the kind of Righteous Anger he’s seldom unleashed.

He stalks toward her, this stupid, bitter, nasty woman, and he leans in close to her, close enough to whisper.

“You want to know what freaks are?” he breathes, so much menace and anger in his voice that she cowers before him. “Freaks are nasty and cruel. Abominations. Freaks aren’t wizards or witches, savants, disabled or anything else. Freaks are just like you. So full of hate and vitriol and nasty and vindictive that they don’t even realise how freakish they are. Where they belong is somewhere I know very, very well.” And Crowley leans in closer now, his lips near enough touching this nasty woman’s ear. “It’s somewhere you’ll be not too long from now and I’ll make sure to visit you from time to time, to remind you just why you are where you are.”

Then he leans back, the distance growing as he puts space between himself and the woman.

“I’m going to leave now, and this one is coming with me,” he says and it’s not a debate, it’s a statement. Actually, it’s a Proclamation[1].

The child behind him perks up, smiling but it’s the sort of smile that is so bright that it hides a whole lot of shadows. Crowley knows that kind of smile well. Aziraphale gives him one of those every time he mentions heaven.

That’s probably not a good thing to think about when he’s so very close to potentially strangling the life out of a human still.

“Come on kid, lets get whatever stuff you have and blow this joint,” Crowley says, turning to look at the child who is staring up at him with naked hope in his eyes.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Crowley smiles, “really.”

And that is the story of how Crowley ended up with a nine-year-old child.

What comes next is crazy and completely typical for a demon of hell who was an Archangel of heaven and now quasi-parent to the magical world’s Saviour[2].

 

* * *

* * *

 

[1] Proclamations are, in case anyone doesn’t know, a public or official announcement that is very, very important. Crowley has made several proclamations over the eons. But this one definitely is the Most Important.

[2] Crowley had been honestly surprised to find out about that fact, but that’s another story for another time.


End file.
